Talk You Down
by victwi
Summary: "I don't believe in this sort of crap." When Jane breaks down and tells Lisbon he thinks he's going mad, Lisbon's only hope is a woman her friend knows; a woman named Melinda Gordon.
1. Safe

Safe

"_Hard to find a way to get through__  
__It's a tragedy__  
__Pulling at me like the stars do"_

The house isn't like I remember it anymore.

The past always gets engulfed by the present eventually and it's something we cannot prevent.

A bright light once flickered inside this house but it's died along with the happy memories made inside it. How I miss those days when we would all cram together on the tiny sofa and laugh at the photo albums spread out upon the rug. We had so many of them and there were so many blank ones just waiting to be filled but they never got a chance to have photos slipped inside them. Rarely do the albums get taken out of their shelves, dust gathering atop their covers but when they do get a chance to crack open their spines, where tears once flowed with laughter and joy there is only sorrow and guilt in their place. How I wish that would change…

"Mommy…" a small tug on my nightdress pulls my gaze away from the house and I look down into the blue eyes of my child, the girl whose smile could either break hearts or melt them. That's what her father used to say whenever he made her laugh all those years ago…

"Why are we here? I thought we weren't allowed to come here anymore." Her eyes are shine with fear and excitement, the moon reflects back as she gazes over towards the house which was once her home. She takes a step forward, nervously looking over her shoulder to see if I am going to hold her back but when I nod my head she gives me a sad smile and runs up the steps through the door.

Inside nothing had changed; I might have just gone out to the shops or returned from a visit to my mother's house. The differences were only enough for someone who had lived there to recognise otherwise they would merely go unnoticed. I can hear Charlotte singing in the hallway and I remind myself that we shouldn't be here anymore. Our worlds are not meant to cross each other.

"Sweetheart," I hurry up the stairs and kneel down to look into her eyes, "we need to go now. Come on, lets go to the park and we'll have a walk around, okay?"

"But Mommy," she struggles on her words, not sure whether to say them or not and I brush her cheek softly to comfort her. She's grown to understand we cannot live here anymore not only because we can't be seen but also because Daddy needs to move on with his own life…only we _can't_ until he lets the memories of us go. For her sake, I wish he would let go then maybe she would be happier than she is now. His sorrow is our sorrow, and the greater it becomes the longer we remain here. I don't want to leave. I'd do anything to feel the wind on my face once more or a taste of freshly baked butterscotch shortbread straight out of the oven but I can't…and I've accepted that.

"Okay," she smiles at me, takes my hand away from her face and holds it tightly in her own, "we'll go to the park…after we've seen Daddy."

I take a deep breath and sigh, closing my eyes as my body relaxes inwardly but no air passes my lips. It hasn't for a long time.

"Sweetheart, we're really not supposed…" but my voice trails away as I look into her eyes and see myself in them, eager to see him just as much as she is. We have looked from afar, never daring to get too close, but seeing as we're already breaking so many rules already…why not go all the way?

"Okay we'll go and see Daddy." I smile sadly as she jumps up and down excitedly, running eagerly towards the stairs but she stops at the bottom and waits for me to follow. As we climb, my one hand clutching the banister while the other joins the two of us together and I begin to wonder why we haven't done this sooner. This whole process might have been easier for Charlotte to accept instead of getting angry and upset over questions I struggle to answer.

He's lying on a mattress squashed into the corner of the room and looks like he's having trouble sleeping, tossing and turning then settling down only to repeat the performance again. He looks awful. Still wearing his day clothes, which are crumpled and dirty looking, there are bags under his eyes and he looks a lot older than he should be for a man his age. I step closer to the tiny bed and kneel down next to Charlotte, who looks scared and fascinated by the man who once kissed her every night before she went to bed.

"Is Daddy sick?"

She turns to look at me and I know that tears would be flowing down her cheeks by now but only her lip is trembling as she reaches for my hand and leans in to rest her head on my shoulder. We sit in silence and watch him restlessly toss and groan. Each thrash of his arms causes Charlotte to cower deeper into my breast and I clutch her closer to me.

"Is Daddy sick?" I haven't answered her question because I don't really know how to respond. Should I lie to her? Twist the truth? Surely she must know, she may have died young but she's old enough to know that it's because of us he's like this. I once knew him as a fool in love but he is now just a fool. A fool who cannot let go and move on with his life. A fool who refuses to find pastures new and turn over a new leaf. The guilt still clutches onto him like a bloodsucking leech, dragging him down whenever the thought of a new future crosses his mind.

"No sweetheart, he's just…" I try to think of something realistic yet comforting, "…he's just had a bad day at work. You know he works with the police now so he sees a lot of bad things."

We didn't watch him because it was better for us that way but over the years we couldn't resist checking up on him to see how he was doing. He works alongside the CBI but on the sidelines he is constantly chasing after our killer, the 'Red John' man, but he had changed in so many ways we decide to stay away. We need to move on as much as he does.

I notice the weight on my breast lift and realize that Charlotte has lifted her head, leaning over her father's face with her hair almost brushing his chin.

"Look Mommy, I think he's better now! He's stoppe moving about!" she whispers, forgetting that he cannot hear us, but she has a smile on her face again. She begins to crawl back over to me but forgets she is closer to the mattress than she thinks.

She brushes his hand.

Immediately his eyes fly open and he sits bolt upright gazing around the room like a madman. Carelessly I whisper 'Jane' and feel myself crushing inside as he looks right through me and continues to gaze wildly around the room. I knew this was a mistake. We should never have come. I grab Charlotte by the hand and before she can protest we disappear into the night, leaving Patrick to lean his head back against the wall and fight back the tears in the his eyes.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Eep. Writing in the first person is difficult when it's a character I don't know!  
Each chapter title represents a song~ Please leave reviews on what you think, if it's not that good I'll just delete it :)

_Westlife - Safe_


	2. Be Strong

Be Strong

_"And just remember, to keep it together  
Don't you know you're never alone.."_

_Lisbon_

"Okay Cho, watch this."

"No."

I look up from my desk just in time to see Wayne Rigsby's face sink in misery, similar to when my niece is told she can't have a bag of candy. The only difference is my niece's puppy dog eyes can melt anybody's heart, so much so she can come home with not one bag of candy but three or four. Rigsby's attempt at being 'cute' goes unnoticed because Cho's gaze hasn't left the computer screen, his fingers tapping frantically away at the keyboard. 'That's my boy' a voice says in my head and I know I shouldn't be smiling but I can't help it. Placing my coffee cup on the table, I pick up a pen and try to look busy whilst keeping a watchful eye on the boys.

"Ahh come on! It won't take long…"

Cho tears his gaze away from the screen and looks across at his colleague who is eagerly waving a coin in his hand. Even Cho – the man who smiles for no one - must be struggling not to crack a smile as he looks into his friend's eager face. I know I would be…especially if it were Jane. Come to think of it, where is he? Shouldn't he be observing this trick so he can steal the flame afterwards by performing something that leaves Rigsby stuttering out words like "No way. That's not..how..wow."

"Fine..."

Rigsby's face lights up when he sees Cho lean back in his chair, twirling a pen in his hand. I can see the amusement he's trying to hide twinkling in his eyes as Rigsby's looks away and begins to focus dramatically on the coin in-front of him. He prepares to enter 'the zone' and stares at the coin like there's nothing else in that world more important than completing this trick. However, sitting across from the office entertainer is the girl who really is the jewel in his crown. Today her red hair is fish plaited to one side, falling just below her elbow, and she looks professional in a violet blouse but I see the sadness in her eyes.

A woman working as a cop is always hard not just because of the job itself but working with so many men you easily become the butt of most jokes. You can't look 'too sexy' or you're a tease and 'that's how you got your job' so loose trousers and buttoned up shirts is the way you dress. Another thing is firing a gun. Men always compare women firing guns to women drivers. They don't focus hard enough, they're too slow, they get too scared…I've heard them all. So as soon as I got my gun licensed I went up to the firing range and practised until I could hit the target with my eyes shut because if I set my sights on being boss, I'd have to be respected. No makeup, no flirting, no cleavage showing, early morning jogs, raising my voice at least once everyday and having a 'look' in my eye that can make even the meanest of criminals cower. Some women slept their way to the top, others actually work and I was one of them. Van Pelt was another and that's why I respect her. She reminds me of myself. But falling in love makes life so much harder…especially when it's with someone on your own team.

We all know the rule; no relationships with anyone on your team or you'll be asked to move to a different one. Rigsby had no trouble with these rules...until Van Pelt arrived. Grace, with her flowing red hair and midnight blue eyes which could pierce through any man's heart, walked into the office and poor Wayne fell hook line and sinker. They both did. I can't say I didn't notice it because I'd be lying but the reason I turned a blind eye is because I _wanted_ them to be happy. In a job which deals with so much pain and sadness, sometimes it's nice to have a bit in love and sexual tension within the office because it put a smile on the team' faces. When Hightower arrived everything changed. Choices were made, hearts broken and a different kind of tension was left hovering around the team. Now the tension levels are at their lowest but the feelings will never go away…

"You ready Cho?"

I break out of my thoughts to find a plastic cup from the kitchen standing upside down on the table with Rigsby's coin resting on top. I look across at Grace and see her watching Rigsby out of the corner of her eye. The person's attention he wants most. Cho sighs and casually nods his head to show he is ready for whatever is about to be shown.

"Okay," he said, his voice sounding more showman like, "I'm going to make this coin disappear and reappear…underneath this cup!" He looks at Cho expecting him to protest with 'that's impossible!' but his unimpressed expression remains unchanged.

"I am going to blow your mind. As you can see, the coin is on the top of the cup…"

But before I can see what Rigsby is about to do to the coin I see a man staggering out of the lift toward my office and I can't help feeling scared. He looks familiar yet something about him has my hand gripping the handle of the draw containing my gun. I say a silent prayer hoping I won't have to use it. They say no where is safe but I would rather point and fire at someone outside of the building. I don't like mess especially in my office, the last time being when I had to smash a chair through my own window and glass shattered all over the carpet. I couldn't use my office for a week thanks to Jane and another one of his crackpot ideas.

The figure has reached the door to my office and pushes it open with a grunt. They stagger over to the leather chair and collapse onto it with a groan. I realise who the person is…but I'm too shocked to speak. I lower my eyebrows, which feel like they've disappeared off the top my forehead, and clear my throat.

"Rough night, Jane?"

My voice hides the shock I know I'm showing all over my face but Jane's own face is turned away from me buried into the chair. I didn't want him to see me worried because I'd never hear the end of it for weeks! Still…

"Mmmmhmmnmm" is the response I get from the limp figure on the couch. I can't resist smiling slightly as the worry circling in my stomach slowly fades away.

"I'm sorry could you repeat that? I think the chair understood more of that than I did."

He's on his feet before I can say anymore and he gazes into my eyes, grey meet brown as we try and understand what the other is thinking. He looks awful, the worst I've ever seen him and that's saying something. I know he has trouble sleeping but this is different.

"You could say that…" his voice is deep and throaty sending shivers all up my arms but I push away my feelings and watch Jane sink back down into the chair, shoulders hunched, head in hands. I wait a couple of seconds, wait for him to jump up and say 'Ha! You fell for it Lisbon, you should see your face right now' but seconds turn to minutes and his figure remains statute.

"Hey, Jane?" I get up from my desk and sit nervously on the edge of the sofa beside him, half standing half sitting. "What's wrong? And don't you dare tell me it's nothing."

I can't see his face but I know he isn't grinning. He's beginning to scare me.

"Jane…"

"Lisbon…" It's barely a whisper but I hear it. I never thought I'd experience the feeling of my heart fluttering and breaking at the same time. He sounds like he's been crying.

"I can't sleep anymore, not even a few minutes home because…because…I feel like someone's watching me."

"Red John?" Fear begins to shake my insides and I know he can hear it in my voice. "Is it him, because I can get an officer outside your-" He cuts me off before I can continue and his voice sounds stronger.

"No. I've felt it for weeks Lisbon, a different kind of presence like there's someone watching me while I sleep, following me around the house only when I turn my back…" he lifts his hand as if surrendering to a question he doesn't know, "nobody is there and yet I _know _they are." His eyes shimmer and I look away so he can't see the tears in my own eyes.

"I..I'm scared Lisbon. I think I'm going mad." His voice breaks and he closes his eyes, burying them into the palms of his hands. I want more than anything to wrap my arms around him and let him sob into my shoulder, but Jane isn't that sort of man. But then again, Jane isn't the sort of man who believes in the paranormal either…

"I think I know someone who might be able to help you…"

I see his head turn to look at me but I stare straight ahead into the deserted corridor. Watching Rigsby and his trick seems like so long ago, a lifetime ago…

"That's very kind of you Lisbon, but I don't think anybody can help me. I need to figure this out for myself."

I let out a small laugh but there's no humour in it and without looking at him I walk back over to my desk.

"I'll contact her when I finish this paperwork from the last case."

"Lisbon…"

I cut him off.

"You're welcome to nap on the couch in here or on your couch in there," I give a feeble gesture towards the Bull Pen, "but I'm sure Cho would like some company in the car. It's your choice."

I still can't look at him. I pick up a pen and beginning shuffling paper around my desk but I feel his eyes upon me. I settle on a stack of yellow papers which need signing. My shaking hands won't make a difference to my messy signature. The silence seems to stretch on for hours yet I know it's only a few seconds before he stands up and quickly hurries to the door, pushing it with one hand and catching it lazily on his foot as it swings back.

"Lisbon."

The tone of his voice makes me slowly raise my head and I'm thankful the desk is between us so he can't see my legs shaking.

"I just…I…thank you."

I want to say something in return that will make him feel better, wipe away the tears in his eyes and tell him everything will be okay…but he lowers his head and walks away. The door closes and I lean back in my chair, biting down hard on my lip to stop the flood of tears fighting to break through the barriers I'm so desperately holding up.

I look down at the pieces of paper littering my desk and mess them up even more by upturning a stack of envelopes covering my phone. The work can wait. Because, as much as I hate to admit it, Patrick Jane has me wrapped around his little finger. My hands are still shaking as I press in the number and I hope that after he's met Melinda I will unwind myself from around that finger and we can both move on. It may not be what I want but I know it's for the best.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Picking just a few lyrics from this song was hard because I feel the whole song describes how Lisbon feels towards Jane in this chapter.

_Be Strong - Delta Goodrem_


	3. Fix You

Fix You

"_Lights will guide you home__  
__And ignite your bones  
__And I will try to fix you"_

_Melinda _

The store is the busiest I have seen it in weeks, customers milling around the tables like children waiting excitedly in line for the ice cream van. I know I shouldn't be surprised but I am. I really thought the store would struggle after I put the prices up last week but the number of times I've rung up the till today has completely changed my mind.

"Melinda, can I ask you to go downstairs and get some more tissue paper?" I look over and see Delia wrapping up an antique jewellery box for a young lady in the last of the blue tissue paper I had bought only yesterday. "Sure, can you hold the queue while I get it?" It was only half an hour until closing and people were deciding to join the ever growing line of people wanting to pay before it began winding out of the door.

"I think so, just don't take too long. Why is it so busy today?" She carries on wrapping the customer's box as I manoeuvre carefully through the crowd to the top of the stairs.

"I have no idea, maybe it's because they saw you through the window looking beautiful in your new dress and thought 'I must go inside where this beautiful lady works?'" I smile as she rolls her eyes in exasperation.

"Go and get the tissue paper, Melinda. Happiness is getting to your head." I laugh as I walk down the stairs, flicking on the switch to add a little bit of light to the claustrophobic store room. I really should get this place cleaned out some time. Note to self: get Jim in to help me clean out all the broken storage. I might be able to find things a whole lot easier then.

I pick up the box of tissue paper and turn to leave but something catches my eye in the tiny mirror hanging on one of the shelves. I swear I just saw…no surely not. I usually only see them when we receive a new box of treasures for the store but that had been over a week ago and nobody, living or dead, had come by to ask any questions. But before anything along the lines of '_I probably just imagined it_…' can cross my mind a voice comes from behind me.

"Did she contact you?"

Even after all these years, I still jump. I only jump when they appear behind me or send me creepy visions or are just _there _when I open something, which I'm sure you can understand. I mean wouldn't you jump if you suddenly pulled back the bath curtain and _WHAM_ you find someone staring at you while you frantically try and reach for a towel? Okay, I'm rambling now but you get my drift…It still gives me a mini heart attack when ghosts chose not to appear in _front_ of me. So when I hear this voice behind me I don't turn round calmly, oh no. I drop the box in my hands and whirl around, a little scream escaping my mouth.

"Oh I am sorry; I didn't mean to make you jump," the woman before me says which makes a change because ghosts never actually apologise when they scare me. She's either generally very polite or has been dead a long time. The blood all over her nightdress makes me think it's the latter…Or maybe it's because she's not freaking out all over the place or demanding me to tell her where she is and what's going on. It always makes things a whole lot easier when they're not yelling at me.

"No, no it's fine. Have you been…sorry, _were_ you murdered?" I gesture to the front of her nightdress which is stained in bright red blood, shining almost beautifully against the silky white material. There are cuts and bruises on her arms and legs but a shiver ripples up my spine when my gaze catches the prominent gash across the woman's neck. I swallow down bile as I look into the wrangled, torn flesh which must have been her obvious cause of death. Our eyes meet. It's all I need as an answer.

"Can I ask your name? I'm Melinda, I own the shop upstairs." My voice is shaking as I bend down to pick up the box but she still isn't screaming at me which is a good sign.

"My name's Angela. Angela Jane. I was killed a while ago but you probably already knew that didn't you?"

This woman knows her stuff. "How long have you been dead?"

She smiles sadly and brushes away a stray piece of hair, taking it carefully behind her ear. "You lose track of time when you're no longer living, each day just falls into the next but I think it's about 7 years."

I feel my mouth fall in shock but I quickly close it, not wanting to seem rude. After all, she's made the effort to come here and ask me for my help; I don't want to scare her away, but seven years is quite a long time to be wandering around doing nothing but watch people who can't see you. Surely there must be a reason…

"Do you know why you've stayed here so long?"

Again she smiles at me but this time her gaze doesn't meet mine. "Oh, I think I have a pretty good idea."

Her voice is a painful sigh and I wait for her to continue. You can't get anywhere doing what I do if you've got no patience because it just causes arguments or, in my case, the 'people' you're talking to just disappear.

"The guilt of my death is killing my husband. It's driving him away from any possible sign of starting a new life and he's beginning to spiral in on himself."

Her eyes close and she shakes her head, a crease forming between her eyebrows. I can see her struggling to hold back tears so I decide to probe her on why she has been here so long.

"Hasn't it been lonely staying here all alone? I'm sure if you looked into the light you would find-"

"I'm not alone," she says defensively.

And as if on cue, a little voice pipes up from between the shelves. "Mom? Can I come out now, please?"

"Sure, sweetheart," Angela says, holding eye contact as if we're having a competition on who can break away first, "come out here and meet Melinda." I willingly break away from the intense gaze and try to hide my shock as a little girl runs up beside her. She clutches her mother's hand and gives me a shy wave, "Hi Melinda."

My voice catches in my throat and tears blur my vision as she smiles at me, lowering her hand to play with the pyjamas she's wearing. All I can do is raise my own hand in return and breathe out a strained "Hi there," but even then a tear escapes onto my cheek and I quickly wipe it away when the girl looks up at her mother. From what I can make out in the dim light the little girl's pyjamas are made up of pink shorts and a top with a smiling cat dancing in the middle of her chest. Only the cat is pirouetting in a scarlet spotlight, the beam of which is radiating from the clean cut across little girl's throat just like her mother's. I don't need a medical examiner to tell me the mother has suffered a slower and more brutal death than her daughter, the thought of which makes me shiver.

"You…" I put the box down beside me and step confidently towards Angela and her daughter not wanting to seem unwilling to help them because of their monstrous wounds. "You asked me if I'd been contacted by somebody when you arrived. Can you tell me-"

"Her name is Teresa Lisbon?" Angela asks and I watch as the fear in her eyes disappears. She's obviously been worrying about whether I would scream and run away at the sight of them but even if a part of me wanted to it would go against everything my grandmother had taught me about using the gift I had.

"She called you yesterday about a friend of hers," Angela continues hastily before I can reply, "who is having trouble sleeping because he thinks he is being followed and watched."

I fold my hands together in front of me and clear my throat, wondering if I should ask her to remember if she knows who did this to her or save it until I find out what she wants. I'm still surprised by the fact that I don't recognise either of them from a news article in the paper or a television broadcast. With their deaths seeming to have been so violent I would have thought their murders would have been front page news at least online.

"Yes she called me yesterday but-"

"It's my daughter and I they've been feeling, not a living person!" She takes a step towards me and her daughter flinches as her mother drags her forwards, hand still firmly clasped in her mother's grip. "You have to tell him because…because…" She lifts her head back and I wince as I gaze into a grizzly chasm of flesh and bone. I realise all too late she has caught what I have been looking at as swiftly turns away, letting go of her daughter's hand.

"He'll go mad if he doesn't stop." Her voice sounds so different, so fragile compared to how excited she was just moments ago and I feel a pang of guilt strike my insides. "Nothing he can do can bring us back and he needs to understand that. He needs to...let go."

These last words sound familiar to me like they've been said to me by another person only reworded differently and I suddenly realise that they _have _been said to me. Angela said them to me herself when she was talking about her husband…Oh. I wish I wasn't so slow sometimes, then again maybe if Teresa hadn't neglected to tell me that her 'friend' had a dead wife and child this might have been solved a lot quicker. Another note to self: make sure you ask more questions next time.

"Angela?" I take a cautious step towards her closing the gap remaining between us but she doesn't turn around to face me. "Teresa's friend, it's your husband isn't it?"

Slowly, still refusing to face me, she closes her eyes and nods. A tiny part of me sighs but the rest of me is still reeling at the amount of information I still don't know about this woman and her child. Okay, so at least I know the connection between Angela and the friend (always a good start!) but it still doesn't explain to me how they came to be so brutally murdered or why she's waited 7 years to finally find me.

I suddenly feel a small presence next to me and I look down to see the little girl staring up at me, her head cocked to one side as if deciding between two things. I look over at Angela to see if she has any problem with me talking to her but she continues to stare at the assortment of objects on the shelves in front of her. I bend down so I'm eye to eye with her daughter, not wanting to seem patronising by speaking down to her. Making sure my eyes don't stray to the bloody smears on her pyjama top I say, in what I hope is a friendly tone, "Hey there, I never found out what _your_ name was."

She clasps her hands together shyly and brings them up to her mouth but I see her smile at me and I can't help beaming back her. The shoulder length hair, peppery freckled skin and pear-shaped nose is no doubt inherited from her mother so the arsenic eyes and slanted smile must be from her father. If death hadn't taken her as such a young age she would quickly have grown from a cute little girl to a beautiful young woman. Images flash before my eyes and I feel my heart clench, desperately swallowing down my urge to cry again as I look into the heart shaped face of this girl whose chance at a life was stolen from her.

"I'm Charlotte, Charlotte Anne Jane." She takes her hands away from her mouth and starts tugging at the bottom of her top looking apprehensively around the basement, eyes darting from object to object. "Do you live here?"

I can't help laughing at how innocent the question is and I feel a surge of affection and gratitude for her managing to make me laugh in spite of everything she and her mother must have been through.

"Nope, this is the basement of the shop I work in upstairs." I look over at the stairs and then slowly move my arm, gesturing to the piles of overflowing boxes and Delia's crazily crammed shelves. "People have given me all of this because they don't want it anymore so they give it to me to sell to somebody else who _does_ want it."

Charlotte nods her head to show me she understands and I wait in silence as she turns slowly on the spot surveying everything in the room as if she's just been told it will all come alive at any moment. I sneak a look over at Angela and see that she too is watching her daughter with a small smile on her lips.

"Why would you give away something you wanted in the first place?" the girl says, with her gaze now looking at the higher shelves which are slightly emptier. I ponder on how to answer her and it's a good half a minute before I'm finally satisfied with my answer.

"I think that all depends on what the object is and who it's from. Sometimes a person realises that what they have can be used and loved by another person much more than they themselves can." I hesitate for a second, waiting to see if she has understood, already looking around the room and conjuring up examples that might help explain it better but Charlotte beats me to it.

"So somebody gave these away," she disappears from my side, reappearing next to a box full of Russian dolls and turns back to me, "because they didn't want them anymore but they're happy to give them away because they know they'll be safe and cared for by someone who wants them? Is that right, Melinda?"

My voice seems to have disappeared again and I lean back up off my knees, wincing as the blood I was cutting off suddenly rushes back into my legs, making them shake. Charlotte has given me a perfect explanation yet the way she phrases is back to me is just so…sad? No, that's not the right word, it's more comprehensive, like she was finally realising something she didn't want to. I have a feeling I'm about to find out but I can't help crossing my arms over myself. Has it suddenly got colder in here or it just-?

"If me and Mummy go into the shiny place would Daddy be happy again?"

I hear Angela gasp and one of the vases next to me shakes ever so slightly, so much so I take two steps away from any of the shelves and I stand underneath the light in the middle of the floor. Why is it that the nicest spirits _always_ seem to have such a lot of bottled up anger?

"Charlotte! Don't ask such silly questions about your Daddy. You know he-"

"But Mummy!" Now all the vases are beginning to shiver dangerously against each other but I don't know whose anger is causing it; the mother who is annoyed at being interrupted or the daughter for not being given a chance to finish.

"If Melinda tells Daddy we've gone into the shiny place he'll be happy again."

"Charlotte, please we don't know that. We don't-" but again Charlotte cuts her off and the vases begin to violently quake. I raise my hands to cover my face and mentally prepare myself an explanation to Delia on how her shelf of vases ended up in pieces.

"If Melinda tells him he'll know that we're okay," Charlotte is shouting at her mother now and Angela has managed to turn herself round to face her daughter. "He'll know that we don't blame him for anything and he won't be sad anymore!"

One of the vases unfortunate enough to be placed at the end of the shelf suddenly falls and the sound of it hitting the floor startles mother and daughter out of their impenetrable duet of words. If they had been alive their chests would have been heaving but they merely shake their heads and turn apologetically towards me. It's good to see they're letting out the anger they've bottled up for so long, I just wish they wouldn't do it in my store…

"We're very sorry you had to see that Melinda and I'm terribly sorry about your vase." Angela runs a hand through her hair as she stares at the tiny pieces of china near my feet. I pick up a piece of newspaper and carefully place it over the broken vase and when I straighten up I find Angela and Charlotte holding hands, looking at me pleadingly.

"Will you help us talk to him?"

I look at the scene before me, mother and daughter clutching onto each other yet both unsure on where they stand. One understands that their father's sanity will deteriorate if they stay here any longer; the other understands the same fact but is less willing to admit it, choosing to hold onto the possibility of a thought that will never happen…

Of course _I_ know the best place for them is in the 'shiny place' and I'll do whatever I can to make sure they choose to go in _together_. I don't think my heart would be able to take watching one of them go in while the other remains here to wander on earth alone.

I give them what I hope is an encouraging smile and take a step closer to them, hoping they can't see the uncertainty and worry in my eyes. "Of course I will. I'll help you as much as I can."

I may not know how they died or why they've stayed on Earth for so long but seeing the glimmer of hope in their eyes as they lean in close to each other and laugh makes it all worth it for me. Because, honestly, how can I ever say no?

* * *

**Author's Note:** Eep. I haven't updated this since February but when I got a review alert the other day I read it I was actually surprised I hadn't continued it seeing as it wasn't going to be that long! I chose this as the song because I thought the lyrics I posted at the beginning fitted perfectly with Melinda helping Angela and Charlotte whereas these, _"When you're too in love to let it go, But if you never try so you'll never know" _fitted with Jane.

I promise to update this one soon! Well, you tell _me _if you think I should carry on!~

_Fix You - Coldplay_


	4. With You

With You

"_I'm not ready to just give in,  
__I know that I can't live in this pain, with these feelings of regret."_

_Jane_

Even before my eyes adjust to the mid-afternoon light I know it's going to be a bad day. Then again when was the last time I had ever had a _good _day? I reluctantly head towards the kitchen to pour myself what feels like the hundredth cup of tea. I've got to stay awake because every time the light disappears beneath my eyelids I feel something in the shadows watching me, an invisible assassin whose mission is only to mentally torment me with his presence. He's doing a damn good job…

The walls whisper wicked words as I stumble shakily past the Bullpen and I feel three pairs of eyes staring into the back of my head – Cho, Rigsby and Van Pelt – only they're not looks of worry anymore. I see it when they sit next to me in the car or whenever I decide to chip in a bit of information.

They're scared.

This, whatever it is, started about three weeks ago. By 'this' I mean feeling an unexplainable presence in the room, a lingering touch on my skin like a cold woman's kiss, waking up in an empty room which feels like somebody has just left. At first it was okay, I thought it was just my unconscious and conscious minds playing tricks on me, mixing up reality and dreams. But after the third night I started to panic.

Gradually I began to get more and more questions from the team, they were nice enough to joke about it and usually I would have given them a remark back worthy of an eye roll, but as the days went on I saw the smiles disappear, brows furrow and eyes start to shift back and forth between them.

I've never been paranoid about people watching me, even after Red John left his mark in my home but at crime scenes I've become jumpy, looking over my shoulder every two seconds and not concentrating on the case. I'm slowly beginning to crumble…

I've tried to hold it together. I really have. I've held it together to fool one person for three weeks with fakes smiles and cheeky remarks but only because I avoid them more and more as the weeks go by. I'm sure she's noticed, a smart woman like her doesn't miss a thing but she knows not to ask questions.

It was the concern in her voice and the change in her eyes which broke me the other day. I know I'm not easy to work with, I like it that way because it stops people getting too close, but to have someone see through all that and still care is, well, only one other person has ever done that before…

"Hey, Jane can I talk to you for a moment?"

Ah, the irony. I should have known that at any moment the person I'd been thinking about, the one person I truly trust and _want _to talk to should step hesitantly beside me. I'm so far away I don't hear her approach so I drop my half empty cup and scrabble clumsily as it skitters around the surface.

"Lisbon!" I say as I finally still my bouncing cup, "I didn't hear you come in! Would you like me to make you a cup of tea?"

I put on what I hope will pass off as a cheerful smile but Lisbon merely cocks her head to the side I know I haven't fooled her.

_Of __course __you __haven__'__t.__This __is __Teresa __Lisbon __we__'__re __talking __about, __the __only __woman __who __can __read __you __inside __and_ _out!_

"I just came by to see how you were getting on since we last spoke?"

"Oh, I'm fine. Everything is all smiles and blue skies and…" My voice falters mid sentence as she smiles knowingly and raises an eyebrow. There's no point lying and if I want to make my hands stop shaking I might as well tell her the truth. She deserves it.

"I'm still not sleeping well," I say quietly and she moves closer to me, her dark hair falling close to my arm. I've never noticed how long it's grown over these past few months and when did her face ever seem so welcoming. Wide eyes and lips in a cupid pout, I suddenly realise she is waiting for me to continue but I feel a sudden urge to reach out and stroke her face.

_Patrick Jane, this lack of sleep has really driven you mad…_

A wave of guilt catches me off guard and I lean against the fridge to support my shaking legs, the last thing I need is to make an even _bigger_ scene by collapsing in front of everybody. That's right; I can see them watching us from the Bullpen. Honestly, they call themselves Agents? A nine year old would be better at spying on me than those three…

"I know Jane. You slept here last night."

I sigh and mentally punch myself for not straightening up the couch more neatly but then again it was a lost cause because she would have known I was there anyway. I slowly turn my gaze away from the idiots in the Bullpen and…Have her eyes always been that green or is it just the way the sunlight is shining on her face. No, it must be a new top or a different shade of eye shadow…God, have her eyes always been _so_ green, peppermint with flecks of gold and blue_?_

_What's happening to me?_

"Anyway," she runs a hand through her hair and I can see she's nervous by the way I'm looking at her, even I'm suddenly nervous just standing in front of her. God I must look like a beggar dressed up in comedic attempt to look smart. Wait, shouldn't it be the other way round…shouldn't _women_ be more worried about how _they _look?

"I've spoken with my friend and she said she'd be happy to help you so, if you like, I can take you to see her and she'll try and help?"

I can only stare. To be honest I thought she had only been making up her 'friend' as an excuse to make me feel better but to hear it was genuine…it doesn't surprise me. Instead it fills me with another emotion, something I can't describe, a feeling that makes me both want to laugh and cry but I do neither. I croak out a feeble, "Yes."

"Okay then," she smiles and I feel my body sag further into the fridge beside me, "I'll meet you at the little coffee house later on, if we don't get any more leads, and I'll drive you there."

"Right. After work. Okay."

Suddenly a huge grin breaks out across her face and I feel my eyes widen. What did I do to deserve _that _smile?

"I can tell you're not okay Jane because you haven't given me any snarky comments! I'll see you later."

Ah, that's why. I'm not my usual smug, arrogant self therefore I gain a glorious grin from Lisbon where other days I get a pout and a furrowed brow. Maybe I could get used to being less smug…

I lean up off the fridge and only then do I realise I have a smile on my face, a genuine smile, not like the one I've been plastering on my face to please the rest of the team but a proper reach-the-eyes grin. I'll play along with Lisbon's friend, tell her I feel fine and forget about the 'invisible assassin'. Everything is going to be okay.

However, happiness is a feeling I have learnt to never take for granted because I find it is always waiting to be snatched away. The smile vanishes from my face along with the thoughts of everything returning back to normal when I feel a cold finger trace down my neck. I whirl round, expecting to see Rigsby or Van Pelt but I meet a deserted corridor. I sense it, a presence, somebody standing right in front of me masked to the naked eye yet…_there._

I turn and rest my hands on either side of the sink, not wanting the other agents to see the tears falling down my face as I contemplate whether these new things I'm feeling and unknown presences are all just a cruel joke or a bad dream. Or am I really going mad?

* * *

**Author's Note: **Short but sweet I'm hoping?  
Writing first person Patrick is such a challenge but I love that! Sorry if a few of the tenses are mixed up, I was trying to get him to refer to how long the team has gradually noticed a change in him and I feel that bringing in his attraction to Lisbon will be a good thing for future chapters with Melinda ;D

Sorry about the late update :( UCAS needed doing...but you know the drill, review and I'll upload! Thank you so much to those who read the last chapter (:

_With You - Ghost Musical Cast (I recommend listening to it!)_


	5. Here Without You

Here Without You

_"Everything I know and everywhere I go  
It gets hard but it won't take away my love"_

Once upon a time describing death would have seemed as impossible as recalling a memory from when you were a child or remembering the name of an old song you catch the last few bars of on a radio. The brain doesn't seem to work fast enough when you're alive, does it?

If you think that's bad imagine how frustrating it must be trying to remember your own murder.

When you're dead memories and pictures seem to replace the blood in your body. I've been dead seven years and I still don't know how it works but all you thrive on is the past. Words once said, laughter shared between friends, intimate exchanges between loved ones. Maybe if I had a heart it would break every time I thought about the life I once had but it only makes me feel stronger, less weak than on a day where I just float around in limbo.

After thanking Melinda for the hundredth time, Charlotte and I decide to leave her alone to tell Agent Lisbon she see Patrick about his 'problem'. That was three days ago but waiting is something we earth-bound spirits are pretty good at…

"Fly paper, fly!"

Charlotte is standing across the road next to a very grumpy officer who is trying to put a parking ticket on the car in front of him. His problem? The 'wind' keeps blowing it out of his hand and down the street, making him waddle after it with the 'wind' galloping behind him.

The man begins what must be his fifth ticket and he clutches the pad firmly in his hand adamant he's not going to let _this_one get away. His face is flushed and even from where I'm standing I can see him murmuring under his breath. I feel sorry for him.

"Charlotte, stop it! The man is getting angry. Let him write his ticket and get on with his job."

She stops jumping and I watch her face fall as the officer slams the ticket onto the car and strides off down the road.

A man suddenly sprints around the corner and stops to pant in front of the same freshly ticketed car. When he's finally caught his breath he snatches it out of the windscreen wiper and dashes off to catch up with the officer.

"Excuse me, officer? Excuse me! Did you put this on my car? Please, I was just dropping my son off at a party in the diner. He injured his leg badly last week so I-"

"With all due respect sir," the officer cuts in and he straightens to tower over the man, "you're in a drop off zone and your car has been there longer than the allotted time so I'm afraid I had no choice but to give you a ticket."

"Please, you don't understand! My son-"

"Look, pay the ticket or I'll up the price. I'm not in the mood for arguing." And he turns on his heel and swaggers away towards the next car.

I slowly rise from the bench and walk across the grass my eyes never leaving the man with the ticket. His shoulders sag as he tears his gaze away from the back of the officer to the ticket in his shaking hand. I can see the tears in his eyes, the unshaven stubble around his chin, the unwashed clothes he's no doubt picked up off the floor and thrown in a hurry. This is a man filled with so much sadness but tries to hide it because he doesn't want his son to see his father in pain. I don't even notice my outstretched hand until my fingers come into contact with his face.

His eyes fly open and from the look of utter horror on his face I think for a moment that he can see me. But then he backs into a group of people who shuffle away at his apologies, muttering words of 'crazy' and 'freak' as they go.

"Sarah…? Sarah is that you? Is it?"

Tears spill down his face and he spins on the spot, eyes searching desperately for something which isn't there. I take a quick step backwards when he comes close to me and I feel the sudden desire to hide.

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't touch my husband."

Out of thin air appears a sallow faced woman, straw-coloured hair falling limply below her chest. If I had been alive I'd tsk at what a waste it was as she had clearly been attractive, a 'stop-and-stare kinda girl' my mother would have described her but looking up and down this woman's figure I'm reminded of my mother in a different sense; the way I'd watched cancer slowly drain the life out of her.

This must be the Sarah the man was calling to.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't-" I begin, stepping hurriedly away from the now crumped man and his dead wife. I stop talking abruptly, her anger knocking me off balance and for a moment I forget where I am.

"Mummy, are you okay?"

Charlotte. Her hand in mine. I clutch it tightly.

"Yes, sweetheart, I'm fine. It's just the static in the air again, that's all."

A lame excuse but I see the worry in her eyes fade slightly. I hesitantly raise my eyes to Sarah expecting to be met with a bitter glare but to my surprise she's gazing in awe at Charlotte.

"This is your _mother_?" she breathes, eyes darting between the two of us, "Well then, your daughter is a cunning genius." She says this looking directly at me and, though I'm glad the menacing vibe has disappeared momentarily from her demeanour, I struggle to reply. She continues in an almost bored tone her gaze never leaving my own.

"My son broke his foot last week so he's using crutches. Your daughter saw my husband helping him to the diner and when the officer came down the road she decided to make his job a little more difficult until he got back. By then he would have had a pretty good chance of backing the officer into a corner and getting the ticket torn up but _you _intervened."

"I'm sorry," I finally reply, "but I don't see how telling my child to stop messing around is 'intervening.'"

"He got the ticket didn't he?" Sarah folds her arms and raises a patronising eyebrow at me. "One more 'lost' ticket and my husband wouldn't have to worry about paying a parking fine."

Her voice is rising higher and higher the angrier she gets, nostrils flaring. Before she can say anything else an engine brays into life and we all turn to watch Sarah's husband drive off down the road, windscreen wipers flicking back-and-forth even though there isn't a cloud in the sky.

"I can believe he still hasn't bothered to fix that," Sarah whispers. I look down to see if Charlotte is at all frightened by this woman but instead I see her eyes shining with sympathy.

"I'm sorry."

Her words sound genuine but I sense there's something more to come. I've only just met this woman yet she reminds me of myself, in fact had we both been alive and our paths had crossed we might even have been good friends.

I grip Charlotte's hand and prepare for the worst.

"I don't know why you're still here but I've heard about you. You've been here for, what, 5 years? More?"

She pauses and when I don't reply she gives a harsh laugh. "That long, huh? Well, some might think that's impressive and a little crazy maybe but I think it's just plain selfish."

She takes a step towards us and I instinctively draw Charlotte closer, regretting ever bringing us to this godforsaken park in the first place. I wouldn't be hearing all this if I hadn't brought us here but, alas, fate is rarely on my side..

"Unlike you I want my husband to move on." She unfolds her arms. "Yes, I watch over him every now and again because I'm waiting for him to let go and I know that will take time. That's time I'm willing to wait, even if it means watching him packing away my things, moving out of our house or falling in love with another woman. I'll be able to move on when _he_ is ready. But it has to work on both parts."

No. I don't want to hear this. This is not what I want to hear, _no. _I turn my back on Sarah, tugging Charlotte in my wake but I know I won't get far. I was torn in two. Part of me screaming at her to stop, begging her to leave us alone whereas another part of me knew she was right. So when she appears in front of us as we cross the lawn I stand still and wait for her to finish.

"You need to let him move on. Think about how you're holding him back from starting a new life and not just him but you and your daughter. The more he feels your presence the more difficult it is for him. Eventually he'll either go crazy or end up joining you sooner than you think."

I never thought I'd come close to remembering what it felt like to die but her words cut me so deep I feel tears prick in my eyes. How much more is she going to say?

"I _know_ it's hard to hear. Heck, if some other ghost told me how I should be acting around my husband I'd set the shadows on them. But I can see it in your eyes. You know it's time. Let him move on. If you don't do it for him, do it for your daughter."

With one last parting smile she turns and walks away. Just when she is about she vanish she turns and I catch a glimpse of the woman she once was before the illness struck.

"I hope we meet again only next time it'll be in the light…and we'll both look less dreadful!"

She smiles and, with her words still echoing in my mind, we watch her fade into the afternoon sunlight, our hands still raised in a parting farewell.

Mere hours before I had been dreading Melinda's meeting with Patrick but now I wish Earth would spin ten times faster just to bring that day closer. I look down at Charlotte and, feeling my emotions easing, she looks up at me and smile.

Sarah is right.

It's time to move on.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Well well.

I forget how difficult it is writing for a character who hasn't really been characterised in the show. Ah well, the challenge is always good!  
I'm sorry about how long it's taken to update and no doubt I'll be back to edit all the tenses...but! I wanted to get this up for you so here it is!  
Lisbon next (yes!) Might even throw in some Jisbon as a 'I'm-sorry-please-forgive-me'

Thank you to those who have reviewed to far~

_Here Without You - 3 Doors Down_


	6. Face Up

Face Up

"_Seems like the more you grow, the more time you spend alone,  
__Before you know you end up perfectly on your own"_

_Lisbon_

Gathering up my keys and phone I take a deep breath and review what I'm about to do, already knowing how the end result will play out. Yes, I did tell Jane we were going to meet a friend of mine but I might have left out that my friend was an expert in dealing with the supernatural…

Working with Jane these past few years has opened my mind, hell I've seen things my superiors would never believe, and it's allowed me to look at my job differently. Most of the time the pain in the ass consultant is just that, but there's no denying how much his ability helps around here. He sees things we don't, notices evidence even the most experienced CSI would miss and his capability to wind up killers into confessing, well…

I'm glad he's working with the cops and not against us is all I'm saying.

"Hey Boss," Van Pelt pokes her head around the door clutching a packed brown file in her hand, "just got sent everything there is on Jake Sanders. There's quite a bit so do you want me to look for anything specific?"

"Check and see if he's got any connections with any of the other people we have on the board and then run all the places he's ever been known to live. He'll be hiding somewhere, get Rigsby to help you."

I develop a sudden keen interest in the mess on my desk, an excuse to look away as I feel Van Pelt straighten a little at the other agent's name. I can feel the invisible excuses flying at me from across the room but as I look back up she says, "Sure thing, Boss. Oh, by the way, Jane's waiting for you" and she quickly disappears from the room.

Again I rattle my keys but don't move because really is there any point in doing this? It'll only end with Jane getting angry and storming out, me running after him and then having a big argument in the street. Same old. Jane is just too predictable and, come to think of it, when did that happen? When did his movements become so familiar, almost like clockwork, and why am I only noticing it now?

I'm just feeling like this because I saw him having a mini-breakdown, yes that's it. I won't feel like this when Melinda's spoken to him, I won't feel, well what? Like I'm holding my breath whenever he's around or when he's not there, when he's not prodding through people's things or going places he shouldn't, when he's not _with_ me, it tugs at my heart.

There's nothing wrong with being alone but being lonely is an entirely different story.

Jane doesn't have that freedom, the chance to choose between being alone in a room or going out and bringing somebody back to make that room less lonely. The cop in me says he's scared of he getting close to anybody because he thinks Red John will take them and going through the pain, glass eyed, asylum bound pain, isn't worth it. But the alter cop want to question 'do you really think there's nobody out there who wants to get close to you just because of your past?'

'Because, I do'

'I want to be there when you wakes up, to reassure you you're not alone, that everything's okay. I want the arguments, big and small, ending with either slamming doors or whispered apologies between strewn sheets. I want the inside jokes, to be able to come home and talk about anything and everything, knowing you can break through my walls of exhaustion. I want to love you, to be loved back, and know that when you look at me you sees _me_ not the cop with the gun and nightmares on the side. _Me,_ Teresa Lisbon.'

But I hear the taunting four words cackling inside my head before I drift any further: _I want doesn't get._

Even as he emerges from the kitchen, bedraggled from restless sleep, I feel my heart catch in my throat torn between breaking and sighing with happiness. He's a sight for sore eyes and to see him like this is just…painful. I want nothing more than for him to be happy and if that means dragging him to Melinda's then so be it.

"Hey, having second thoughts about taking me to your friend's?"

I wouldn't think twice about taking you anywhere.

I feel my insides clench as I try and fail to hold back a blush. Where did _that_ come from? Maybe it would be good for Jane to move away and leave me to get these damn feelings out of my system. But the thought of him leaving is something I honestly can't imagine. Who would tease Rigsby with magic tricks and treat Van Pelt like the good cop she is and nobody but Jane would ever attempt to crack a smile out of Cho.

"I have second thoughts about taking you many places Jane. I have them every time we go to a crime scene but," I take a moment to marvel at the glimmer of light in his eyes as he smirks, "this is one place I am not backing out on."

"Great, let's go then."

I watch him walk away and each step knocks my heart down another notch. I need to face up to the second result this day could have. What if Patrick Jane complies with Melinda believes everything and hears her gifted exchange? What if he walked out of the precinct for good?

At least he'd be happy, a voice in my head says, at least then you know he could move on even if that means leaving you behind.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Poor Lisbon :(  
Oddly enough I've had a bit of feedback from this story recently so thank you! Honestly I was thinking of giving this one up but unexpected interest and reviews sure as hell got me going. So here's a new chapter, I love hearing what you think! Sorry if any tenses are mixed up..

_Face Up - Lights_


	7. Brand New Day

Brand New Day

"_This cycle never ends, you gotta fall in order to mend,_

_It's a brand new day, it's a brand new day__._"

_Melinda_

As soon as he walks through the door I know it's going to be difficult.

This gift of mine has allowed me to meet so many different types of people – old and young, male and female, dead and alive – but the most difficult ones are always those who don't believe. It makes it harder for a spirit to move on when the person refuses out right to listen to anything I have to say. I'm not saying I expect them to believe me straight away, of course not! If somebody came up to me and told me my dead relative or friend had a message for me I'd react just like anyone else. Shocked, confused, angry, _why are you doing this?_ But I'd listen to what they had to say before turning away.

"Hey Teresa," I say and hurry over to embrace the petite agent, "it's been so long since I last saw you! When you called I thought you were arranging for a well needed catch up!"

"Oh sorry, I'm afraid we'll have to reschedule. What with work and everything, I barely have any time these days." She smiles sadly and I realise, as she shuffles her feet, that I've made her feel awkward. Well done, Melinda.

"Its fine, Teresa! Really! I've been busy lately with the store so don't feel bad! Is this Patrick?" I say in the hope of changing the subject and Teresa turns to allow the man to step forward.

"Yes, this Patrick Jane. Jane, this is Melinda Gordon."

"Hi there," he says, grasping my hand in his firm grip, "it's lovely to meet you. Lisbon hasn't really told me what you can do to help but I'd be grateful if you could." Hmm, not sure whether he's being sarcastic or nice there.

"Nice to meet you too, Patrick. Teresa told me on the phone that you've been feeling a presence around and it's stopping you from sleeping?"

There it is. Already I can see the doubt in his eyes as he listens to what I'm saying, jumping to conclusions before I've even begun. Oh Teresa, why couldn't you have at least _attempted_ to explain what I do, it would have made this a little bit easier.

"A presence, you mean a ghost?" He says with a raised eyebrow and the quirk of his mouth says it all.

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying. You see, you're wife-"

"Lisbon. What is this?" How rude.

He rounds on Teresa, red in the face and gesturing wildly with his hands. "Why the hell have you brought me to this woman?"

"Because she can help, Jane." I can see the nervous tremor in her hands which are now balled into fists but she holds her ground when Jane takes a step closer to her.

"How is talking to this fraud going to make me any better? Is this some sort of joke, pay back for all those times I lied and tricked you? I'm sorry; you know it's just the way I work. But I never thought you'd do _this_." He gestures round my shop and I feel my temper flare.

"Hey, I really don't think that-"

"No. I don't want to listen to anything you have to say," he says and his wild expression stops me in my tracks. At a distance he looks fine, quite handsome features with curly hair and a charming smile, but up close it's a different story. Uneven stubble shadows his jaw with dark circles looming beneath blood shot eyes. His clothes look like they've been worn repeatedly for weeks and there's an odd smear of goodness knows what on one of his shoes. This man really does need my help.

"Please, Patrick. Let me help you."

"Haven't you listened to a word I've said? I don't _want_ your help. I used to be just like you, telling people exactly what they wanted to hear just so you can get money in your pocket. The longer you draw it out the more zeros there are on the end. Nothing you have to say will convince me otherwise because I know every trick in the book."

Right. That is _it._

"That's interesting, Mr Jane, very much so. Maybe if I actually did what I do _for _money I wouldn't feel so bad about the doors being slammed in my face, being shouted at in the street, thrown out of houses all because I'm just trying to help a spirit move on."

"Stop it, just stop."

"No. Your wife, Angela, and Charlotte are walking this earth unable to cross over into the light until you let go. In order for you to all move on you need to-"

"I said _stop_!"

There is a loud bang and a box full of candles topples onto the floor, their contents rolling in different directions. Nobody makes a move to pick them up even when one bumps lightly against my foot. Patrick heaves a steady breath and looks down at the box he's just knocked over.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean…I'm sorry but this is just all absolute rubbish."

"Even if you think it is rubbish I'd rather you didn't take it out on my items." I try to keep my voice cool but it's proving difficult when there are now Tneicna candles all over the floor.

"Jane, please just listen to what Melinda has to say," Teresa says softly, opting to pick up candles than look at him, "she can really help. She's not a fraud or con artist, none of what she does is for money. It's all real. Just listen. Please?" They look at each other for a moment, Teresa's hands full of candles, and I suddenly realise why after all these years Angela chose to show up now.

Jane is ready to move on.

"You see it too?" A voice says beside me, filled with sadness and hope all at once, and I see the woman beside me has changed since we last met. The blood stain around her neck is gone and the dark circles beneath her eyes have faded. "He's ready to move on isn't he?"

"Yes," I say and immediately feel Teresa and Patrick's eyes on me, "he's ready but he needs to know you're okay with that."

"Who are you talking to? Okay with what?" Jane asks and I look down to see Charlotte clutching at her mother's hand.

"Daddy doesn't look very well," she whispers timidly, "and he's not being very nice."

"I know, sweetheart. Melinda's going to help get him better again so he can be happy. Isn't that right, Melinda?"

I look from mother, nodding at me with confidence, to daughter, eyes shining with worry, and nod my head. "I will."

Some spirits can be violent, others send visions, and then there's those who can just be down right rude but these two are none of the above. They've been on this earth walking around in limbo for too long now and yes, Amanda is partly to blame for that but they're here now and that's all that matters. I'm going to help them no matter what it takes.

"Patrick Jane, your wife and daughter are here," I say, "they're ready. Are you?"

* * *

**Author's Note: **Been a while, I'm writing this from my new room at University! The next chapter is finished, edited and ready to upload so read and review and it'll be uploaded sooner!

_Brand New Day - Joshua Radin_


	8. Pieces

"_A broken mess, just scattered pieces of who I am_

_I tried so hard, thought I could do this on my own_

_I've lost much along the way"_

Jane

If I'd known I would be standing in an old antique shop being told utter rubbish I wouldn't have bothered getting up today.

I'm close to walking out the door and waiting in the car, until Lisbon gives in and drives me back. She forgot to mention that her 'friend' is a con artist. The rest I can read for myself – recently had a child, married to a fireman, bakes in her spare time – and yet something tells me she's telling the truth. That or she's a brilliant liar.

"Why don't you wait a moment before turning away?" Melinda holds up a hand. "Let me prove it to you."

Oh, now this could be interesting. Let's see how good she _really_ is.

"Well, you're not the first person to tell me my wife has a message for me." I feel Lisbon tense at how rude I'm being, but I don't care. She's the one who brought me here in the first place.

Melinda raises an eyebrow and turns her head to the side. She gazes into thin air, nodding every few seconds, and she laughs as she turns to face me again. I'm impressed; she's more convincing than I expected.

"There's a little toy lion in your kitchen which sits on the window sill above the sink," Melinda says. "Charlotte accidently carried it out of a shop without paying for it when she was younger. It wasn't until you got home that you realised she even had it. What did you say you named it again?" she asks the thin air beside her. "Benny. Benny the Lion."

That is not possible. Even if somebody had seen the toy lion in my kitchen, they wouldn't know where it came from or what it was called. I take a step back.

"How do you know that? How do you know any of this?" I turn to Lisbon and she flinches away from me. "Did you give her my file?!"

"Of course I didn't. You know it's against the rules and it wouldn't show anything about a toy lion." I feel the walls of reality falling around me. "This isn't some con or illusion or magic trick, Jane. This is as real as it gets. Trust me."

"But, Teresa…" Words die in my mouth as she looks at me. I've gone behind her back, lied and played tricks, and yet she still trusts me. What Melinda has said and the look in Lisbon's eyes is tearing me apart.

"It's tearing you apart, isn't it?" Melinda says. Did I speak out loud? The fact that I can't remember really has me questioning if I've gone mad. "She can feel it; you're frustrated and you don't understand how any of this is even possible. You want to move on, but Red John is stopping you because a new relationship feels like cheating."

"Happiness isn't an option anymore." I'm finding it difficult to swallow. The last thing I want is another emotional breakdown. "I don't deserve to move on, not after what I did."

"But that's just it, Patrick. All this guilt, this quest for vengeance, not allowing yourself to move on is killing you. You're not only stopping yourself from moving on, you're stopping Amanda and Charlotte from going into the light."

"What? How does-"

"They never blamed you, Jane. Not once." My legs have gone numb. There are tears on my cheeks, but my hands remain frozen at my sides. "If forgiveness is what you want then they forgive you, Patrick. They want you to be happy. They want you to move on."

"What I said got them killed. If I'd gone home sooner, I could have saved them!"

"No. Red John had been planning it for a while. It was only a matter of time before they were in the house alone. He was quick."

'_Your daughter never woke up. She wasn't scared, not even for a second.' _That was what Kristina Frye had said, but this is different, more detailed, easier to believe. My hands are shaking as I watch Melinda smile at the space beside her.

"What's she saying?" I ask.

The ghost whisperer raises her head and I see she's impressed I've accepted what's going on around me. I feel like telling her I don't know what to believe anymore.

"Charlotte tells me you should smile more. Do you remember, 'keep it simple with one dimple but-"

"'-two is even better.'" I feel like I've swallowed a mouthful of glass as I remember all the times I said those words to Charlotte. She's really here. My wife and child are here in this room, invisible to my eye. Here.

"I'm sorry," I blurt out to the empty space beside Melinda, "for everything. I'm so sorry. This should never have happened. If I could go back and stop myself from saying what I said…" I choke on another sob and look around at Lisbon, tears of her own sliding down her cheeks.

"She knows you'll be okay, Patrick," Melinda says. "They want you to be happy, to smile, laugh and love again. You deserve it." I feel a featherlike brush across my cheek and I stop breathing altogether. It can't be. I touch the spot on my face and look in bewilderment at Melinda who merely smiles. "They're ready to go."

There are so many things I want to say, questions, a never ending stream of apologies, but I know things are best left the way they are. It's easier that way for everyone.

I raise my gaze and speak to the chandelier above me, "Where they're going…they'll be okay? Safe?"

"Yes," Melinda says. "I promise." She's telling the truth, no con or illusion, no trick by Red John. I feel a weight inside of me lift.

"I will." Melinda says into midair. She nods her head and smiles, tears in her eyes as she looks down and gives a small wave. I raise my own hand, and Lisbon raises her hand too. There's a soft breeze across my face, which sends shivers up my spine, and then silence. I can't explain how I feel. There are tears in my eyes and my hands are still shaking, but my heart feels less heavy, lighter than it's felt in years.

"Have they gone?" Lisbon asks as she looks around the empty store. It's odd hearing her voice so high pitched and confused. "Have they crossed over?"

"Yes. But I have a few things to tell you before you leave if it's okay with you? I think it'll help both of you."

I feel Lisbon looking at the side of my face. I meet her gaze and my head spins when I see the open expression on her face. If I wanted to leave now she wouldn't protest. She'd say goodbye to Melinda and follow me. I only have enough energy to smile back at her, but I vow there and then to repay her for this moment, for everything.

"Okay," I say, my gaze never leaving Lisbon's face, "Ten more minutes of your time and then we'll be out of your hair and on the road."

Melinda smiles and hurries over to the till. She rummages underneath the tissue paper cluttering the desk until she finds what she's looking for – a paper and pen.

"I'll write it all down first so I don't forget, and then explain everything to you."

"Melinda, what are you talking about?" Lisbon hurries over to join her at the till and I follow, equally confused.

"Oh, I think you're going to want to know," she says, looking slowly from Lisbon to me, "I'm about to tell you everything I know about Red John."

* * *

**Author's Note: **A thousand apologies for not updating sooner. I blame University and stupid essay deadlines.

I love writing Jane, he's my favourite character, and this scene was one I pictured when I first started writing. It's when I realised these two shows fit so well. Thank you to everyone who has favourited and alerted this story. It means so much. _Thank you~_

-twi


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